


Worth the Breaking

by TFWBT



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Cage Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, First Time, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Handcuffs, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Cage, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 13, Rape Recovery, Season/Series 13 Spoilers, Wings, jack and the beanstalk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFWBT/pseuds/TFWBT
Summary: It's been years since Lucifer’s death but Sam's still haunted by his memory. Jack doesn't know what happened between them, just that Sam’s bleeding pain so thick it hurts to feel it. Can he help Sam? He doesn't know, but he has to try, even if Sam struggles to accept his help.





	Worth the Breaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [interstitial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstitial/gifts).



> This contains spoilers for end of season 13. Everything that happens between Sam and Jack is 100% consensual, even though Sam is having trouble saying what he wants/needs. The story references a past non-consensual relationship between Sam and Lucifer, but does not actively depict what happened. This is set in the future where Jack's Grace has fully recovered, he's grown up, and he doesn't view Sam as a father figure, but as a friend.
> 
> The beautiful art was done by CenedraRiva.

Dean half threatens, half requests, “Watch out for Sammy.” It's directed more at Castiel, but Jack straightens, accepting the mission with zealous dedication. He doesn't need to be asked to make Sam's safety a priority. It's been at the forefront of his mind since a few days after birth. Still, ever since Sam stood up for him against Lucifer in that church, it’s become more than a want. It’s a need.

 

Sam rolls his eyes, although warm affection rolls off of him in easy waves. “I could do this in my sleep. You, on the other hand, need to take it easy. I told you that place was sketchy, Mr I Don't Get Food Poisoning.”

 

“Oh, thanks for that reminder,” Dean groans from the edge of the bed. His fingers tighten in the comforter. “I forgot the other dozen times you told me.” He casts a pleading eye at Castiel. “Are you  _ sure _ you can't heal me?”

 

“If I clear the contents of your stomach,” Castiel patiently explains yet again, “I'll remove everything, including the beneficial bacteria. If your organs start shutting down, I'll be able to cure them, but you're not in danger of that. Once you empty the problematic contents of your stomach, you'll be fine.”

 

As he is still learning the intricacies of healing, Jack doesn't dare try his luck. He’ll need to study the human digestive system in more detail. 

 

“We'll be back to bring you dinner,” Sam says, which makes Dean turn an interesting shade of green and dart to the bathroom.

 

As Sam drives the Impala to the farmhouse, they discuss the case. Jack has been on enough cases to predict what they'll ask each other: How many werewolves have they counted in this pack? What's the layout of the farmhouse? What's plan B and C and D? When Dean's involved, there's a lot less planning, which Jack prefers; Sam has a tendency to think too much. Besides, now that Jack has better control of his powers, werewolves are easy. Still, Jack indulges Sam and Castiel with answers, his attention focused on the passing scenery.

 

As if sensing Jack's boredom, Castiel turns around. “We're keeping the same arrangement, even without Dean. You'll go in the back of the house first.”

 

“Really?” Jack sits up straight in the backseat. It's one rule they never break: no one goes in alone. 

 

“If you're ok with it,” Sam adds, his eyes flicking up from the road to meet Jack's in the rear view mirror, concern with a shade of worry drifting off of him. 

 

Sam's worry used to bother Jack back when he thought it meant Sam still considered him a child. Jack soon came to realize that worry is what Sam does best. He worries over Dean, over Castiel, over the cases, over anything that could be worried over, and many things that shouldn't be.

 

“I'm okay.” Jack assures him. “I can handle this.” He's never started out a hunt on his own. He's normally paired with Sam, or Mary if she's with them, but she's off on a road trip with Rowena and Charlie, and they didn't expect Dean's guts to turn inside out. 

 

Sam nods and the worry abates, slightly. It never goes away. He parks the Impala on the side of the road in a thicket of bushes. Even though Jack could teleport them, they walk to the farm house because Sam avoids the use of Grace as much as possible. 

 

Jack stays as close to Sam as he can, until the plan necessitates that they split apart. At the worry drifting from Sam when they reach their parting point, Jack can’t help but smile. Sam’s the least powerful member of the group and most likely to be injured, but that doesn’t seem to occur to him. 

 

With a reassuring nod to Sam and Castiel, Jack stealths around to the back of the house. He reaches out with his Grace to search for werewolves as he picks his way around discarded farm equipment. Cicadas sing and fireflies dance as he moves through the thick, overgrown grass. His Grace tingles at the shift in barometric pressure over the last few hours and he tastes the coming rain in the air. The approaching storm feels powerful and he can't wait to see it.

 

When he reaches the back porch, he can feel and hear the werewolves moving in the room beyond him. Their emotions are calm, unhurried. They're tired. It's almost midnight when he glances at his watch, so he waits for the agreed upon time. As he waits for the minute hand, he assesses his emotions, searching for fear or anything else that could cloud his judgement. He’s not scared. Nothing scares him, really, other than fear of losing his family. 

 

The hand slides home just as Sam prays to him, “Ready.” Jack teleports in, throwing out his Grace as he arrives, slamming the werewolves in the room against the walls. He’s caught six, which leaves five for Sam and Castiel. With his Grace pinning them in place, he manipulates it, snapping their necks one by one. Quick. Efficient. Painless. He's become adept at killing. 

 

As the last one slumps to the floor, surprise, pain, and fear flair in the other room. It’s Sam. In an instant, Jack’s at Sam’s side. Sam’s flat on his back, a werewolf on top of him. Her claws rake down Sam's chest as she growls, “-rip you open-”

 

Before Jack can move, a shot rings out, and the werewolf slumps on top of Sam. Jack rips her off and the blood soaking Sam’s shirt amidst the terror and pain twists Jack’s heart. Hurt flares through him so sharp it’s as if he’s been slashed himself. 

 

Sam recovers before Jack does. He jumps to his feet and moves to search through the house, even though his fear is so thick, it's almost palpable. Jack follows with a pit in his stomach. He’s failed. Sam’s hurt. When a werewolf lunges at them from the top of the stairs, Jack kills it with a thoughtless flick of his fingers, slamming it over the railing.

 

Only when the house is cleared does Sam’s anxiety drop to a more manageable level. Sadness, guilt, regret sink in as he looks over the bodies of the dead werewolves. Dean’s usually satisfied by the end of a hunt. To him, werewolves and most other monsters stop being human when they transform. Friends are an exception and, once you've earned Dean's trust, he'll do anything for you, but until then, watch out. To Castiel, humans and monsters are all creatures and are treated the same: mostly with indifference. With Sam, it’s different. He always sees the person, no matter how much the monster took over. He sees himself. 

 

Upon noticing the blood on Sam’s chest, Castiel steps forward. “May I?” he asks, cautious as ever. Sam nods, terse. Castiel places a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder and his Grace flows in. Castiel has mastered the art of healing so he only needs to use a bare minimum of Grace, but Jack can still feel Sam’s hatred and fear spiking at the simple touch. Sam’s face is carefully blank, as always, as he attempts to push the pain back down, where he keeps it locked up. 

 

Usually it works. Sam buries his pain so deep Jack often can only feel it when he searches for it. The first time he'd really felt it had been in the church, when Lucifer had tortured Sam. The memory of it sends a shiver down Jack's spine, even in the humid summer night air. The depth of Sam's pain and terror had hurt Jack worse than Michael and Zachariah’s tortures did. 

 

After Dean killed Lucifer, Sam buried his pain deep, so Jack rarely feels it. For some reason, it's different now, and when they head back to the car, Sam’s walking away wounded, although his physical injuries have been completely healed. Jack tries not to stare at Sam as he soaks in his fear and pain. Should he say something? Should he do something? What could he say or do? Jack’s still too new to healing to even try to heal Sam’s injuries without his Grace going a bit wild and provoking more distress and misery. Besides, Sam’s not actually injured. 

 

Not knowing what to do, Jack glances at Castiel, whose face is carefully blank. Jack can’t read Castiel’s emotions; angels are too different than humans, but he knows Castiel can feel Sam’s pain too. They're ignoring it? Why? Is it because it's related to Lucifer? He's dead; there's nothing more they can do.

 

The heavy clouds break open shortly after they reach the Impala. Sam flips on the wipers and headlights as rain batters the car, an angry staccato on the roof. 

 

Jack can't help but stare at Sam as they drive back to Dean. Castiel can feel human emotions, but without a soul, they are basically scents to him. Unpleasant, enjoyable, cloying, faint, or heavy, and he can easily ignore them when he wants to or needs to. Not so for Jack. They catch on his soul and he feels them himself. Dean's anger burns white hot and is brash, like wildfire, while Sam's is slow, deep, and heavy like ink. Arousal comes quickly and easily for Dean, and is always enjoyable to feel. Sam's is rarer, slow to build, normally only felt late at night in the bunker, and often tinged with shame and pain. 

 

And the pain… The pain is always hard to take from any human, but especially Sam and Dean. If Jack could, he'd teleport straight back to the room to be rid of it, but it doesn't seem right to leave when Sam can't. 

 

Back at the motel, Jack tries to soak in Dean’s happiness at seeing Sam alive and well, but it’s not enough, especially when Sam smiles at Dean and pretends as if he isn’t dying inside and Dean can’t tell, can’t feel it, but accepts Sam’s emotions at face value, and is content and happy while Sam is in pain.

 

Sam had bought dinner on the way back to the motel, but none of them eat it. Dean dashes to the bathroom at the smell of it, and Sam picks at his salad with his emotions so twisted, it hurts Jack’s stomach to feel it. Castiel drinks his coffee and relays the outcome of the hunt to Dean. 

 

It's all so… normal. Jack hates it. Sam's in pain and Castiel isn't telling Dean, isn't asking Sam what's wrong. They do this at times. Castiel says usually Sam and Dean don't want to talk about their feelings. He says they have to make sure Sam and Dean are ready to speak about their pain before pressing, but it never sits right with Jack. Sometimes Castiel's too much of an angel. Besides, it doesn't burn him the way it burns Jack.

 

After Dean returns from the bathroom, Castiel judges the contents of his stomach clear and offers to put him to sleep for the night with the promise he should be fully recovered by the morning. Happily, Dean accepts, and he's soon passed out on his bed, content in his dream, while Jack and Castiel sit in a room soaked in Sam’s pain.

 

“I’m gonna go out,” Sam says, looking at Dean asleep on the bed, his heart thudding hard. He clutches the keys to the Impala so tight they bite into his skin. “I won’t be back until morning.” 

 

Castiel, perched by Dean's bed to monitor him, glances up from the book in his lap to study Sam's face. In a soft tone, he says, “Call if you need anything.”

 

“Of course,” Sam says as anticipation, dread, and anxiety sweep off of him in thick waves that leave Jack reeling.

 

“I'll come with you,” Jack offers. He’s got no idea where Sam’s going or what is causing this attack, but it doesn't seem right to leave him alone.

 

“No,” Sam says, quick and curt. “No, I… I’m planning to go to a bar.” Sam looks at Castiel with pleading eyes and Jack can’t help but feel a stab of guilt that he isn’t enough. That Sam doesn’t want him. He would give all his powers to be able to help Sam.

 

“We'll stay here,” Castiel says.

 

Sam nods, grateful, and walks out the door, emotions so thick, they linger like smoke. Jack can’t bear to see him leave so full of pain. What if it gets worse? What if he gets hurt? He follows the trace of Sam’s emotions, tracking the feel of Sam climbing into the Impala and driving away. He keeps Sam's movements in a corner of his mind so that he can be by his side in an instant. There’s no way he’s leaving him alone with this. 

 

“Is Sam okay?” Jack asks Castiel.

 

“No,” Castiel says quietly, his eyes on the door. “He hasn't been for awhile.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Hell.” Castiel's eyes return to his book, his tone final. 

 

There's something there that involves Lucifer hurting Sam. Jack can feel it. He's been feeling it ever since he was born, although he didn't realize the full extent of it until after Lucifer had turned on them. A deep fissure had opened in Sam in that church. With Lucifer dead, Jack had hoped Sam would get better, but whatever had caused that torment was still there. Some dark secret they all kept tiptoeing around. “What aren't you telling me?”

 

Castiel says to the book, “It's not my story to tell. When Sam is ready, he'll tell you.”

 

Jack chews on his cheek as Sam's anxiety ramps up. It's not his own emotion, but he feels it as if it were: his heart races, his palms sweats, and his legs are so restless, he stands and paces. And then: pain. He freezes in place. Sam's hurt. It's a mild pain; nothing really compared to what happens to them almost daily, but Sam doesn't like it. He's distressed, he's queasy, he’s suffering, and yet… There's no anger. He's not fighting. 

 

Jack says, “I need to go.”

 

“Don't,” he hears, but he's already where Sam is. Sam's stretched out naked on his stomach across a bed, cuffs around his wrists pulled above his head by a chain. He’s not looking at Jack, his face buried in the sheets. It's freezing in the room and the air conditioner rattles as it pumps out more stale cold air. As Jack watches, a man dressed in black leather brings some sort of weapon down on the red skin of Sam's bare ass, filling the room with a slap. Sam jumps as much as his bonds will allow, pain radiating from him.

 

The man moves to hit Sam again and Jack grabs his wrist, filling his own eyes with Grace as he warns him, “Don't hurt him.”

 

The man gasps, fear rising so thick, Jack stumbles back. This isn't a monster, but a frightened human.

 

“Jack!” Sam cries. “Don't hurt him.”

 

Jack gapes at Sam, confused. “He was hurting you.”

 

“Jack, let him go!”

 

The instant Jack releases the man's wrists, he drops the weapon. “What the fuck?” The man gasps, stumbling back, and nearly falling on his ass. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he turns and runs out the door.

 

“WAIT!” Sam yells at the man's back, but the door slams shut and Jack feels the cloud of fear retreating as they hear the bang of a car door and the squeal of tires. 

 

“Fuck!” Sam tugs on the cuffs on his wrists. He sighs and says, “He had the key.”

 

“He was hurting you,” Jack points out. Sam's not under any sort of mind control. He's not drugged. He's doing this willingly, even though he hates it, even though he’s practically swimming in revulsion.

 

Sam burns with embarrassment. “I asked him to.”

 

“Why?”

 

Speaking to the bedspread, his hair in his face, and shame thick throughout him, Sam says, “I thought it would help.”

 

“Did it?”

 

Sam sighs. “No. I- I don't know. You interrupted us.” He tugs on the cuffs. “You’re gonna have to break these.”

 

Sam's frustrated, but it's not directed towards Jack. He's upset and revolted with…himself? It makes no sense. 

 

Jack moves to Sam’s side to release him from the cuffs, but he's caught off guard at the sight of Sam's red ass. He can feel the pain still radiating from it. The whole situation is so strange, and there's so much going on at once, and Sam's 'Don't!’ comes too late. Jack forgot Sam hates being healed and he's already moving his hand towards Sam's skin. Sam jerks and twists, spinning onto his back, and Jack's hand brushes Sam's flaccid cock the moment his Grace flows inside. The fear is expected, but the rush of arousal isn't.

 

“Jack,” Sam gasps and the strangled tone of his voice, and the feel of his arousal, does something Jack’s never known before. It touches a part of him that Dean's secret magazines and the videos on the internet never could fully reach. The sight of Sam naked and wanting, his cock filling, his desire rising unlocks something deep within Jack; a need he doesn’t know he had. 

 

At the same time, he recognizes that this is what Sam wants. This is what he was trying to get from the man: not the pain, but the pleasure. 

 

His hand seems to move on its own. It wraps around Sam's cock and squeezes.

 

“Don't,” Sam says with a gasp. His cock pulses, his pleasure spikes, and his heart pounds so loud, it's all Jack can hear.

 

“Why not?” Jack asks, puzzled, frozen in place, his hand on Sam’s thickening cock. “You didn't want that, but you actually want this. I can feel how much you want this.”

 

“You're- He- I can’t.” Sam tries to stuff his arousal back down, burying it deep within him, but it's so thick and deep, he can't bury it all. 

 

With his hand on Sam's cock and Sam's emotions so wild, Jack can feel it clearly now--the pain buried deep that comes to the surface when Sam’s thinking of Lucifer. The very torment that seared wild through Sam during the confrontation with Lucifer. 

 

Something happened a long time ago. Something that's left Sam raw and wounded and all twisted up, even though Lucifer’s dead. Jack realizes now that Sam called the man in black to try to bleed it out. There's fear there and it's so thick Jack's heart nearly shutters to a stop, but Sam's not afraid of Jack, not at all, even though he twists and pulls his cock out of Jack's hand, moving to the headboard of the bed. This is an old wound that never healed right. Something that Lucifer did, presumably in Hell. No one will tell him about how Lucifer hurt Sam, but Jack doesn't need to know the details; it hurts him enough just feeling Sam's jagged edges. 

 

It wasn't him, he didn’t choose his father, but somehow it seems his responsibility to fix. He climbs onto the bed. Sam's eyes widen and his pulse quickens, his skin flushing. Jack doesn’t even need to look at Sam’s cock to tell how aroused Sam is. Sam’s desire is so thick, Jack can almost taste it.  

 

“Release me, Jack,” Sam says and he's trying to be firm; he's trying to bury the pain and his need and his want, but it's too dense and deep and Jack drowns in it. Sam hates that he craves this, and that's the problem. He won't let himself have what he needs. 

 

“I may be Lucifer’s son, but I'm not him,” Jack assures him. “He took what he wanted, but I'll give you what you want.”

 

“What I want…?” On some level, Sam knows, but he's in denial. He prefers war, since it's easier to fight this than accept it. 

 

To prove it, Jack bends down, easily pushing Sam's legs apart. Sam freezes, eyes wide as he looks at Jack between his legs. Watching Sam's face, Jack licks Sam's cock. The touch ignites Sam; he arches his back, his eyes lidding and his mouth dropping as he cries out, his pleasure and cock pulsing so thick it sparks Jack's Grace and Jack can't stop, not when he knows how much Sam wants, needs this. There was such disgust and pain with the man, but there's none of that towards Jack. Hesitation and shame, yes, but Jack knows Sam can't ask for this, can't admit to the depth of it, to the rot eating away at his core. 

 

Jack copies the videos he's seen on the internet and sucks Sam into his mouth, one hand wrapped around the base. Sam's thick; bigger than most men he's seen in the videos. He can barely fit him in his mouth--it's gagging him and his jaw aches, but he keeps going because he knows Sam needs this. The salty sweet taste of Sam and the musky smell of arousal and need shoot straight to Jack’s own cock hanging thick between his legs. His Grace pulses, Sam’s pleasure striking his own, making it wild and raw, but he ignores his body as best he can because this isn't about his pleasure, but about Sam's. 

 

Sam says “Jack,” over and over and it's almost a prayer. His hips thrust, his cock hitting deep in Jack's throat and Jack can't even breathe, so he turns it off, wanting this to be perfect for Sam. Sam’s choking him and gagging him, but he ignores it, letting Sam use him, and then Sam's pleasure hits its peak so high and fast, it catches them both off guard. Sam's cock pulses as he comes and Jack swallows it all, sucking Sam until he's soft and panting, his limbs lax against the bed and his heart rate slowing. He's calmer now. The pain is harder to reach, softer. 

 

Releasing Sam's cock from his mouth, Jack sits up. He barely has time to wipe off his mouth before Sam's regret and shame slam into him. 

 

“Untie me,” Sam says, firm, and he somehow hates himself more than he did before. He won't even look at Jack and Jack knows that if he lets him leave, Sam will stuff everything that happened tonight deep inside him and never let it see the light of day, even as it tears him to pieces. Jack can't let that happen.

 

“No,” Jack says as he leaves the bed. 

 

“No...?” It's not what Sam expects. Surprise fills him, quickly followed by determination. He pulls himself up and reaches into the hair behind his ear, retrieving a thin device, which he sticks in the lock of his cuffs. 

 

Stepping over, Jack takes it away and slips it into his back pocket.

 

“Hey!” Annoyance flows out hot and thick. Jack doesn't mind annoyed; there's no heat there. Sam isn't scared of him or actually mad at him. Sam’s never been mad at him, even when Jack accidentally destroyed part of the library while training. Disappointed, yes, but never mad. 

 

“Jack, this isn't funny. Let me go. Castiel's probably wondering where you are.”

 

“He knows where I am,” Jack says simply as he walks over to the noisy AC and turns it off.

 

“Oh god.” Sam buries his face in his hands, burning bright with embarrassment. “You're his son.”

 

“Yes. He'd be happy I'm helping you.”

 

Sam makes an unusual noise, his hands still hiding his face, shame thick. Humans have so many strange rules around sex that Jack doesn't understand and Castiel can't explain either. Why wouldn't Castiel want Sam and Jack to take care of each other? He loves both of them.

 

Jack steps over to examine the items the man left on the bedside table. One of them is a bottle with the words “ANAL personal lubricant” on the side. Reading the words gives Jack a funny feeling deep in his stomach. He’s seen enough videos to know what those words mean and the thought of doing that with Sam sends his Grace pulsing hot. His full cock calls to him, but he ignores it for now. This isn't about what he wants. “I can help you. I can feel it.”

 

“Feel what?” Sam isn't paying attention to Jack. His embarrassment has dropped and he's fishing around the headboard, searching for a nail to dig out of the wood. 

 

Next to the bottle is a strange object. It's a metal chain, like a thick necklace, only the ends have little devices that open and close. Jack clamps one end on his pinky, feeling it squeeze his flesh tightly. “Your emotions. Your wants. I feel it all,” Jack reminds him. “You crave something you don't want to crave. That's why you called the man.”

 

“I called a professional.” Sam finds a nail and digs at it, but it's going to take him a while to get it out, so Jack ignores it. “I did  _ not _ call…” A painful swoop and Sam is raw and bleeding pain again. Lucifer might be dead, but he's also here in this room.

 

“I'm not him,” Jack reminds Sam as he examines a blindfold. “I'm not Lucifer.”

 

“You're his child,” Sam hisses, angry, disgusted with himself, full of self-hated he doesn't deserve. No one hates Sam as much as he hates himself. Even Lucifer didn't. “Jack, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-”

 

“I chose this,” Jack assures him. He picks up an item he assumes is for anal insertion. It has a wide base, but it doesn't resemble a cock, instead it has balls of increasing size, all stacked on top of one another. The smallest is a bit bigger than his thumb and the thickest one is almost as wide as his cock. Jack considers the object, but decides to use his fingers instead. Placing the object down, he picks up the lube and turns to the bed. 

 

“Jack,” says Sam, and there's a breathlessness that wasn’t there a minute before.

 

Looking at Sam, Jack sees Sam's looking at the bottle. Sam’s eyes flit to Jack's face. He swallows hard, desire and disgust fighting within him. “What are you doing?”

 

“I'm going to help you.” Jack assures him. 

 

“No, no, no, Jack-” The pit inside Sam opens, pain and terror flooding out, and he swallows hard. “Lucifer, he-” It's too much, Sam can't say it, the words caught in his throat, too much torment to describe in words.

 

“I know,” Jack assures him as he climbs onto the bed. “I can feel it.”

 

Sam curls up against the headboard, looking impossibly small even though he’s bigger than Jack, and has been protecting him since the moment of his birth. Jack can't help but hate Lucifer for carving so deeply into Sam, for reaching deep into him and leaving carnage and waste that would never, could never, fully heal, only subside. 

 

“I'm not him,” Jack promises as he sets the lube on the bed beside them. “I don't want to hurt you, just help you.” 

 

He makes a stupid mistake. Sam’s not looking at him when he grabs Sam's ankle and pulls. 

 

Panic slams into him at the same time as Sam's foot, breaking his nose and blinding him.

 

“Oh shit!” Sam says, panic subsiding and regret flaring. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, Jack. I-”

 

“I’m okay.” Ignoring the pain, Jack restores his vision. Making sure Sam can see him this time, he grabs Sam's ankles and pulls him further down the bed, until Sam’s arms are stretched above his head, the chain between his handcuffs and the bed tight. 

 

“Jack,” Sam starts, but when Jack pushes Sam’s legs apart and moves between them, he loses his voice for a moment, his breath hitching, his heart hammering, and his  _ need _ so great, Jack can barely wait. Forcing himself to go slowly, Jack grabs the lube. 

 

Sam’s eyes open almost comically wide as he watches Jack squirt out some of the lube onto his fingers. 

 

“Jack, no-” Sam wants it and hates it. 

 

“I’m going to do this,” Jack promises him. “I’m going to give you what you want.” He reaches down between Sam’s legs and brushes his fingertips in the cleft of Sam’s ass, barely touching the tight furl of muscle. Sam pushes back against the fingers, his full cock bobbing and his desire surging.

 

“Don’t- Don’t-”

 

Sam’s afraid, but not of Jack. He’s afraid of his own heady desire, so thick and raw, Jack’s Grace resonates with it. It’s so heavy, the air pressure in the room sinks lower than the storm outside. Jack ignores Sam’s protests and listens to his body, his heart, his soul, feeling the heavy  _ need _ . He pins Sam against the bed, with a Grace-filled hand firmly on Sam’s hips, using just enough to trap Sam without pushing his Grace inside. At the feel of the Grace, fear and desire escalate, as Sam goes lax against the bed, his mouth dropping open, speechless and wanting.

 

Jack’s fingers stroke the tight muscles of Sam’s hole, which opens for him easily, welcoming a finger into its heat. As Jack’s finger slips in, Sam gasps, and his pleasure spikes so sharp, Jack’s Grace pulses with it.

 

“Warm,” Sam says. For some reason, it surprises him. 

 

Jack moves his finger in and out, not quite sure what he’s doing as he pays close attention to Sam's rising arousal. Sam tosses his head, his body caught between pulling away and pushing back. 

 

“You want this,” Jack assures him.

 

“I don't.”

 

“You do.”

 

“I. I- didn’t,” Sam tells him, pain thick and ragged, as his hips shift and he guides Jack’s finger to something firm inside of him that makes heat seer through body as his pleasure climbs. 

 

“I know. It’s okay. Let me give it to you.” Sam’s so open for him, so needy, Jack adds a second finger easily, pushing both against that spot as Sam’s legs spread more for him, even as his hesitation rises.

 

Straining against his arousal, Sam forces his hips to still. “Don’t, Jack. I’m supposed to protect you not-”

 

“I don't need your protection,” Jack firmly tells him. Jack thrusts his fingers into Sam, leaving him speechless as Jack quickly figures out the best way to stroke that spot so that Sam’s leaking precome, his heavy balls tight against his body. He holds out the best he can; he needs this to be good for Sam, but he can’t last long. The feel of Sam’s pleasure is too much, too great, and Jack is helpless to resist. He pulls out his fingers, and a flash of disappointment emerges from Sam before he recovers himself. 

 

“Jack,” he says as Jack strips out of his clothes. “You don’t have to do this.”

 

“I know. I want to.”

 

“This isn’t-” Sam sighs. Pain and self hatred bubble up again as he pulls at the bonds at his wrists. “Jack, please, walk away. I’m begging you. Leave. This isn't right.”

 

It isn’t true. Jack can feel the  _ want _ more clearly than he’s felt any other emotion from Sam since they first met. Sam craves this. He needs this.  

 

Kicking out of his jeans, his cock bobbing in the cool air, Jack steps back towards him. Sam watches him with narrowed eyes and red cheeks. Shame follows his wanting so closely they might as well be the same.

 

“Jack,” Sam says as Jack climbs on the bed, his voice low and stern, and the deep tenor of it is the hottest thing Jack's ever heard. “I'm serious. Stop.”

 

Jack climbs between Sam's spread legs and grabs the lube, thumbing off the cap. “No. That's not what you really want.”

 

Sam stares at Jack's cock with need; his own rests full and thick on his abdomen. “You don't know…”

 

“I know,” Jack assures him as smears the lube over his cock. He moves into position. There's fear spiking high now, revulsion too, but it's not directed at Jack, but inward. Sam's thinking too much, so Jack pushes his cock against Sam's hole and presses inside, feeling Sam's body open greedily for him even as Sam tries to pull away, still refusing to admit what he really wants. Jack keeps him pinned in place as he sinks into him, feeling Sam opening and welcoming him, pleasure rising, even as he shakes his head and shuts his eyes, his knuckles white in the sheets.

 

Sam's not thinking so much now; just feeling, and, oh  _ fuck  _ he's so turned on, Jack nearly loses his load then and there. He pauses to reach down and massage his tight balls down, pressing and rubbing until the moment passes, while Sam, spread open around him, his hole pulsing with his heart beat, trembles with pleasure. He wants something, but he can't bring himself to ask for it. For Jack to move?

 

Once he's gotten control of himself, Jack bends forward, places his hands on either side of Sam's shoulders, and fucks into him. From how Sam moans at the movement, his pleasure full, satisfaction rising, Jack knows it's exactly what he wanted.

 

Steady, carefully, he buries himself in Sam to the root before pulling back, feeling Sam's rim clinging tight to him. Sam's so tight and hot and his arousal is a supernova so bright it's too much. Jack unfurls his wings, Grace pulsing out through his feathers. 

 

It's hard to keep his wings away from Sam. He wants to beat them, to let them soar, but the energy of his Grace filling the room is hard enough for Sam to handle. 

 

“Sam,” he says as he fucks, his hips rolling in slow, steady waves. “I've got you.”

 

For a moment, Sam is frozen, lost, still caught up in nauseated loathing, even with his pleasure rich, but he forces his eyes open and then, at the sight of Jack, he moves his hips, shifting until he finds an angle where Jack can rub perfectly over that little spot and his lips part and his eyes glaze over as his pleasure grows deep and heady. 

 

“Jack,” he breathes, his hips moving to meet with Jack's in unison and it feels so right, so perfect, as they move with each other, that it seems this is what Jack was made for. This is what he was meant to do. 

 

As Sam's pleasure rises, his control over his emotions fades and Jack can finally feel it now--the black rot at the core of all that pain. This is what scares Sam. He's worried it will pour out of him and into Jack. Jack's learned the word that hurts Sam the most: freak. Sam tried to refuse not because of darkness in Jack, but because of darkness in himself. He didn't want whatever tainted him to taint Jack. Maybe it was the demon blood or Lucifer, Jack doesn’t know, but whatever it is, Jack doesn’t care. 

 

Sam believed in Jack from the beginning, even when fear poured off of him in that prison cell. There's too much pain and sickness there to ever erase, and the darkness is a part of Sam; woven into his soul. Sam hasn't accepted himself the way he accepted Jack; the way he looked past destiny and blood and saw love. He hasn't seen the divinity within him the way he sees it in Jack. Sam's the reason Jack's soul burns bright.

 

Jack lets his Grace pulse out from his wings in steady beats that match the thrust of his hips. Rain lashing the windows turns into hail at the force of the energy pouring off of him, but he can't pull back into the room without sending more of it into Sam, and Sam's not ready for that, not yet. 

 

The shadows of Jack's wings dance on the walls around them and Sam stares at them with reverence and fear rolling off of him in equal parts. He braces his feet on the bed as he sets a faster pace, muscles contracting, sweat beading on glistening skin. He's fucking back so hard, Jack has to use his Grace to brace himself; Sam's strong for a human. For the first time, Jack realizes he may not be enough. Sam's so strong and the pain is so deep, so brutal that maybe Sam's right, maybe this will break Jack, but it's worth the breaking.

 

“Your face,” Sam gasps as he works himself furiously, slamming his hips down so hard, Jack can barely hold on for the ride. They're soaring together now, Sam's arousal pitching Jack's higher than he ever thought possible and just when he thinks he's going to peak, it climbs even higher. “I wanna- wanna see- your face.”

 

He doesn't have a true form the way Castiel does and Lucifer did, but he knows what Sam wants, needs, and he lets go, his Grace pulsing wild, his wings beating hard, lights bursting, windows shattering, his cock jerking as he pumps both Grace and come into Sam. Sam takes it all, his body clenching Jack's cock so tight, it's painful, as he shoots hard, spattering his torso in strips of white. 

 

Warm contentedness rolls off of Sam in waves so thick, Jack has to take a moment just to bask in their wake as his heart and breathing slow. Once his heart no longer feels as though it's about to jump out of his chest, he carefully pulls out of Sam. They both shudder as Jack's still sensitive cock slides over Sam's puffy rim. Sam’s trembling, little shivers running through his body, but he’s not scared, just blissfully fucked out. 

 

With a flick of his hand, Jack breaks the cuffs and meets Sam's eyes. Sam stares back at him, his breath harsh and his heartbeat racing. He brings down his hands, his wrists rubbed raw by the unforgiving metal. As his arousal fades, pain returns, creeping into Jack in thorny tendrils. 

 

“Sorry,” Jack says as he touches the injured flesh of Sam's wrist. “May I?”

 

His eyes unwavering from Jack's, Sam nods lazily. He's not tense at all as Jack takes both wrists in hand and uses the bare minimum of Grace necessary to heal them. Fear flairs up, but it's soft and quickly falls away. 

 

It's dark in the room with the light bulbs shattered. Jack can barely make out Sam's face as he feels Sam calm himself down, their bodies still entangled. A heavy gust of rain blows aside the curtains and sweeps rain and lights from the street across the bed. Sam's eyes finally leave Jack's to take in his surroundings.

 

“Fuck,” he says, sitting up fast, alarm flooding through him. “We should get out of here before someone comes.” 

 

Jack cleans them both with another jolt of Grace and maybe it's just the recent orgasm--Jack's not naive enough to believe one night can make such a change--but Sam’s emotions quickly return to normal again as soon as Jack lifts his hands. Jack's still hazy in his pleasure and Sam has to toss his clothes at him. He's still pulling on his shirt when Sam's out the door. 

 

“Oh shit!” Alarm.

 

Jack teleports to Sam's side to see glass scattered across the trunk of the Impala. Sam anxiously examines the car as Jack uses his powers to lift the glass. Only after Sam's made sure there isn't a single scratch does he relax. “Gotta be careful,” he warns Jack as they hop in the car. He peels out of the parking lot like Dean, fast with tight curves. Only when the hotel is in the rear view mirror does Sam shift to his normal method of driving--cautious and steady.

 

They're halfway to the motel when Sam asks, “Hungry?” as he turns into the drive-thru lane of the only open restaurant.

 

Jack wasn't until Sam suggested it, but now he's starving. He orders a burger, fries, and a chocolate shake, while Sam asks for a burger with everything. Dean would be proud. 

 

Dean likes to eat while driving, but Sam doesn't. He finds a spot off the side of the road and shuts down the Impala. Sam tears into his burger while he watches the rain sluice down the windshield. His emotions swirl in a muddy mix and Jack can't tell if the burger is a good or bad sign or even what Sam's feeling at all. Just when Jack catches on an emotion, it's replaced by another. Jack pulls back from Sam to focus on the storm around them. It's softer now; Jack can feel the pressure rising. It'll break within the next hour. 

 

When they're finished eating, Sam carefully collects their garbage and tucks it between their feet.

 

Jack expects him to start driving again, but he sits; confusion, pain, and worry rising again. Sucking in a breath, Jack waits for regret and that oh so familiar self-hatred to overwhelm the other emotions, but it creeps sluggishly through Sam’s other emotions instead; heavy, but low. 

 

“I thought it would be easier after he died,” Sam says, his eyes on the rain and his thumb rubbing over his palm. “It was worse.” His thumb digs deeper, pain welling up. Jack lets it flow in and through him. 

 

Sam sucks in a breath and says, “I knew then I'd never be rid of him, not fully.” He frowns at his hands in his lap, quieting them, and turns to look out the window away from Jack.

 

Not knowing what to say or do, Jack absorbs it all. He understands now why Castiel often sits helplessly while the brothers emote pain. Before he'd only known the tip of the iceberg, but now that he's seen what's under the surface, he knows of the vast expanse and it staggers him. He doesn’t know where to start.

 

It's too much and Sam pushes the pain back down, putting himself back together with practiced ease. When he turns back to Jack, his eyes are glistening, but devoid of tears.

 

“Thank you,” Sam says, worry now so heavy Jack feels his own stomach turn with it. Sam’s shutting down, closing off again, and he might as well be running out the door into the rain. “I appreciate what-”

 

Jack bends forward and kisses him. Sam sits, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, emotions frozen but for surprise. He’s not moving to stop Jack, so Jack keeps kissing him. Sam’s breath quickens with his rising arousal. It's not like the movies, where everything's perfect. Jack has no idea what he's doing; for all he knows, he's giving Sam the equivalent of messy puppy kisses as he licks at Sam's lips and into his mouth. Sam's all sharp stubble and soft lips and warm want shooting straight to Jack's cock, but there’s too much self-hatred. Too much anxiety. Too much pain.   
  
Catching Sam's hands in his own, Jack rubs his thumbs over Sam's palms, and the simple touch is ignition. Desire. Safety. Acceptance. Sam kisses back, and then Jack's frozen, helpless, as Sam devours him and shows him exactly how to kiss. And oh, how had he lived without this? 

 

As Sam's desire rises, he moves, pushing Jack back against the seat. Jack's head bumps up against the door, his legs spread by Sam's wide hands. Jack's moan is cut off by Sam capturing his mouth again. With Sam tied up beneath him, Jack had forgotten how huge Sam was, how powerful, but he remembers now, with Sam's hands roaming, squeezing, claiming, reminding Jack that Sam might be human, but he's defeated archangels, stopped the apocalypse multiple times, and killed gods. There's a reason Lucifer wanted him dead. 

  
He can barely keep up with Sam’s kissing, the arousal pouring off of him is so sweet and rich, but then Sam’s hands somehow undo his jeans and he’s lifting his hips for Sam to wriggle them down enough to free his cock, all hard and needy, dripping wet against his stomach. Sam shifts slightly and it’s uncomfortable and cramped, with Jack’s left leg wedged between Sam and the seat back, and his right leg hitting against the column, but then Sam presses his warm cock against Jack’s, taking them both in his capable hand, and Jack can’t think of anything else, nothing else but the searing heat of Sam’s cock, and pleasure, pressing into him and through him. He’s not even kissing back now, he’s too drunk on Sam’s desire electrifying his Grace, making his whole body, his soul itself hum with pleasure. 

 

Mild pain flairs from Sam’s shoulders where Jack realizes he's grabbing Sam too tightly. He opens his hands, unsure what to do, where to touch, because it’s all too much, he’s wound up too tight, like a star about to go supernova. 

 

Shooting out his wings, he tries to thrust up against Sam, but there’s no room and he’s pinned, by Sam’s body, by Sam’s  _ need _ . And, oh fuck, he could do this for hours, just feel all that want vibrating around him and through him. He beats his heavy wings languidly, they’re so thick with Grace it’s almost painful, but he’s gotta be careful. He’s gotta watch out, because his Grace could hurt the Impala or Sam, and Dean’s going to murder him if either one comes back with a scratch.    
  
“Relax,” Sam whispers between kisses. It can’t be comfortable for him to be bent so much to press their cocks and mouths together, but he doesn’t appear to notice, his focus is on Jack, on Jack’s pleasure, and Jack has no idea how the hell Sam’s managing to read Jack so well when he can’t read emotions the way that angels can.   
  
“I don’t want- I could hurt you.”

 

“You won’t,” says Sam with such easy conviction, as if he’s able to see Jack’s very soul, and maybe he can, because he’s always believed in him, even when Jack couldn’t believe in himself. 

  
And so Jack follows his lead, climbing with him as their arousal twines and builds until Jack’s practically flying, his wings thrashing, his Grace pouring off him in waves, and Sam’s arousal is so heavy and sharp, Jack can barely handle it. 

 

He tries to keep his Grace away from Sam, but it's too rich, it's electric. When Sam moves his hand just right, Jack loses control. Fear and pleasure spike within Sam. 

 

“Sorry,” Jack says as he channels his Grace and tries to pull back his body, but Sam just grips him harder, his head buried in Jack's shoulder, his hand working them both harder despite his fear, despite the pain in Sam’s core. Maybe that’s part of what he needs? All Jack knows is that he’s going to give Sam everything he can, no matter what. 

 

Neither of them can speak, they’re both panting, hearts racing, muscles tight, and cocks pressed hard together. Sam peaks first, his arousal one moment sharp and dense before it bursts like a popped balloon and he floods Jack with relaxation so warm and inviting Jack follows close behind, their bodies pulsing together with sweet contentment that hits in waves that seem unending; just pure bliss. Jack’s floating on Sam’s emotions, unable to move or think, only feel. 

 

He doesn’t know how long he floats on Sam’s emotions, only when he returns to full consciousness, feeling as though he woke from a deep, refreshing slumber. His head feels sticky, as if he’s been swimming in honey, and he’s spattered in come.    
  
Sitting up, Sam lets out a contented sigh. The static electricity of Jack’s Grace has made a mess of his hair and he soothes it as best he can. When he catches his breath, he says, “We should head back. Dean'll worry.”

 

Still breathless, Jack nods. He cleans himself with Grace as they both tuck themselves away and adjust their clothes. They drive in silence. The storm has mostly passed and by the time they reach the motel, the skies are cloudy, but dry. 

 

In the motel room, Sam exchanges greetings with Castiel, who arches an eyebrow at the two of them before returning to his book. Jack can’t help but grin.   
  
Sam kicks off his shoes, and then collapses on his bed without bothering to undress or even slide under the covers. He’s asleep in a moment, but they patiently wait for Sam to fall into deep sleep.

 

The moment they know Sam won’t wake, Castiel lifts his eyes from his book to meet Jack’s. “He’s doing better now. What did you do?”   
  
Jack can’t help but grin stupid wide. “We had sex.”

 

Nodding thoughtfully, Castiel asks, “Did you use your Grace?”   
  
Jack nods. “He was scared of it, but he needed it.”

 

Giving that same understanding nod again, Castiel studies Jack, his blue eyes inscrutable. After a moment, he says, “Be careful.” 

 

Jack’s anger flares sharp. “Sam wouldn't hurt me. He’s better than that.”   
  
An eyebrow arches and Castiel says patiently, “He is, which is why  _ you _ need to be sure not to hurt him.”

 

For the first time in years, Jack feels his chronological age. Looking at Sam asleep on the bed, his chest tightens and he nods. “I know.”

 

“What Lucifer did…It was...” Castiel frowns, his eyes on his hands and his pain so deep Jack can almost feel it. “But what I did was worse in a way, because they trusted me and I betrayed them. I thought I was helping. I thought I could take on the apocalypse myself and they'd walk away. But they didn't.” He glances at Dean beside him and shakes his head before looking back at Jack, pain in his eyes and his eyebrows tightly knit. “They won't walk away, Jack. No matter what you've done. Even if you’ve hurt them. You need to be worthy of that. Of them.”

 

Jack's chest tightens as he watches the easy rise and fall of Sam's chest. He doubts he’s worthy. Who could be worthy of all that love?

 

“Thank you.”

 

Confused, Jack looks at Castiel. “For what?”

 

“For helping him.” Castiel nods to Sam. “You gave him what he needed.”

 

They sit in comfortable silence, watching over Sam and Dean until dawn breaks. Castiel leaves for breakfast as soon as the light hits. Before the brothers wake, he returns with pancakes, bacon, sausage, and eggs for Dean; a veggie egg white omelette for Sam; chocolate chip pancakes and sausage for Jack; and coffee for all.    
  
At the smell of coffee and food, Dean wakes and proves he’s feeling better by eating through his entire meal and Jack’s leftovers. When he finishes, he sits back with a happy sigh. “These small town diners have the best breakfast food.” He casts an expectant look at Sam, but when Sam keeps eating without remark, Dean peers at his brother with a frown. “What? Not gonna make a comment about my arteries?” He gestures to the huge pile of grease left in his dishes.   
  
Puzzled, Sam looks at Dean. “Do you want me to?”

 

“Nah.” A flair of suspicion, but then Dean observes Sam’s lax posture, and he shrugs before heading off to pack for the road. 

 

A bright blue sky greets them when they step outside to pack the Impala. 

 

As Jack tosses his bag into the trunk, Dean clasps a warm hand on his shoulder in passing. “Thanks for taking care of Sam.”

 

Jack's frozen, fire shooting across his face before he remembers the hunt. “No problem,” he manages to say, wincing at how high his voice sounds. He manages a smile, but Dean's already walking away towards the driver's seat.

 

Jack shuts the trunk and takes his place behind Sam. Warm happiness rolls off him in steady waves as he argues affectionately with Dean over where to stop for lunch on their drive back to the bunker. 

 

To home. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Interstital requested that I do a rape recovery fic between Sam and Jack with elements of Sam wanting things he's too afraid to ask for. I wrote it before the series finale and then tweaked it afterwards. I kinda wanted to rewrite it more after the finale, but didn't have the time. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
